An opportunity arose to vacation in Hawaii. In addition to the normal things to see, the waterfalls and restaurants, the culture, hiking the scenic trails and exploring plantations, we discovered there was a nesting ground for green sea turtles. I dearly love turtles.
With great anticipation to witness something profound, we headed there with swimsuits beneath our shorts and snorkel gear in the back seat. Reading about this place on the short drive, we learned it was the last remaining black sand beach on the island, that all the rest had been covered by lava flows by the nearby active volcano, and that green sea turtles had been returning here for years, although their numbers were diminishing.
The gray black sand was gritty as we dashed towards a beautiful cove. Where were the tour guides and vacationers with their digital cameras? How could this be, an empty beach save a lone sign cautioning us not to touch the turtles but not prohibiting us from swimming there. There, on the rocks where the sand met the sea, were three enormous green sea turtles, taking the waves and the seaweed in stride.
We put on our gear and gently eased into the water twenty feet away. I dipped my mask halfway in, watching them maneuver the rocks with their flippers to balance and turn. They were magnificent.
I slowly snorkeled the cove, stopping to investigate and explore, when I noticed one of the turtles three or four feet below the edge of my toes. He glided by and drew away, returned to gently sweep a safe distance away, checking things out.
On one such glide, in the most deliberate way, he looked right at me, as if inviting me along. I snorkeled above following him, watching him closely, he swimming below and just ahead, setting the pace, every now and again incrementally glancing in my general direction.
We toured the cove that way, my guide and I, playing follow the leader. Eventually though, I noticed how far I was from shore, and reluctantly turned to head back. At one point midway along, I glanced back towards where he had been, and was shocked to find him right on my heels, below and behind, following me back to shore. He was letting me lead in this merry game.
And so began a most amazing game for 'Not It' and I. We gently let each other take the lead, never getting closer than 5 or 6 feet away. He led me past the warm water fissures in the cove, and where the coral reefs harbored a living sea. I led him past my son and showed him my best flipper glides. On that day of sharing, we learned what laughter sounds like through a snorkel.
NMcC
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